


Collection of Teen Wolf Ficlets

by ShearaGoldwing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShearaGoldwing/pseuds/ShearaGoldwing
Summary: A collection of ficlets written between season 2 and 3 of Teen Wolf.





	1. Chapter 1

They entered into this arrangement for one reason and one reason only; sex, stress relief, a chance to feel as if they had some sort of control over their own lives. Peter misses the first warning signs; knowing how Chris likes his coffee (black as pitch, sweet as honey), finding his clothes laundered and folded without him touching them, an extra pillow on the bed. 

When he finally realized what was happening he knew, without a doubt, that it was too late to leave. 

So he learned. 

He learned that if he rubbed a particular spot on Chris’s neck he went loose. He learned that, while the bottoms of the hunters feet were practically numb, if he squeezed his side, right where it dipped in slightly to form his waist, he’d yelp and leap a foot in the opposite direction.   
He learned how to stitch a wound and splint a broken bone. He learned how to make chicken soup well enough to help his human fight a fever. 

He learned how to worry for someone who wasn’t his blood. 

And he learned the pain of watching, helpless (holding his beloveds hand the only comfort he could give) as his lover died, sweaty and emaciated in the bed of the hospital after losing a three year battle.

 

\---

 

The first time Chris laid eyes on the Hale house after the fire the only thing that crossed his mind was ‘this is a house?’ He could still remember what it had been like before; grandiose, slightly imposing, and full of the laughter and love of a family that had never hurt anyone.

The second time he sees the burned wooden remains, after waking up with his head full of heavy-metal drummers, the only thing he can see is the place his sister was killed. ‘With good reason’ the quiet voice of the-only-child-that-suddenly-wasn’t that he had never truly been able to get rid of entirely.

He had opportunity to see the old house many times over the years; sometimes with a hunters eye, planning a trap, and other times as an ally running for his life from a murderous Alpha.

It was the last place he expected to end up tonight. It was supposed to be just a simple hunt. A rogue omega had wandered into town and killed a few pets. He’d planned on negotiating with it, to convince it to go out to the woods to avoid any ‘incidents’. He hadn’t planned on gazing up at the charred wood of the first floor ceiling, laying in a sticky, red puddle, with a terrible pain in his chest.

Somewhere a woman was screaming. He couldn’t place the voice but he knew it wasn’t Allison. She’d left. Years ago. He tried to focus, to place the voice, but gentle fingers combing through his short hair were distracting.

Heavy boots thudded across the dusty floor and Dereks gruff voice broke through the odd haze that had settled over him, “How much longer?”  
“Not long.” Oh, the one stroking his hair was Peter.

 

\---

 

There was a lullaby his mother used to sing when he was sick as a child. He’s forgotten the exact words over the years but as he lays the veil over his daughters head and prepares to walk her down the aisle he can’t help but hum it softly… sadly.

It was his daughters wedding day, almost six years since her mothers death, a month after her 22nd birthday, and twenty years to the day since Chris had sold his soul to a crossroads demon to bring her back from the dead.

It had been an accident, an unsealed window allowed a rogue omega to break into their home at the time and slaughter their helpless two-year-old in her bed while he and Victoria had been out hunting him. Gerard was supposed to have been watching her. He and his wife had returned home to no Gerard and their dead child.

It hurt Victoria; it broke him.

That night he drove to the crossroads slightly out of town and dealt with a portly bastard named Crowley. He got what he wanted, his daughter back, but when he told Victoria what he had done… well, needless to say she’d never really treated him the same after that.

For twenty years he’d watched his beautiful daughter grow and every year he watched his death approach.

The ceremony went perfectly; he was sure he even saw Derek shed a few tears. It was while the cake was being cut that he saw him; short and portly with a scraggly beard he hadn't had last time.

“You’re early.”

“Just making sure you don’t forget. Eleven fifteen, darling.”

He disappeared after and Chris watched Peter approach, glasses of champagne in hand.

  
He was still humming the half forgotten lullaby when Crowley laid a hand on his shoulder.

“It was a lovely wedding. I was very impressed.”

“I’m surprised you came to get me yourself. Isn't retrieval normal left to the hellhounds?”

“I like to make a personal appearance for… high investment souls. And to be fair you did most of the work.”

Chris glanced over at the still body laying on his bedroom floor. He was surprised at how easily the bottle of pills had gone down, honestly.


	2. Chapter 2

The fight ended bloody. Initially Peter hadn’t planned to be there. But Derek had asked, he’d even said please, and say what you will about him he couldn’t resist his nephew. He wanted to, more than he felt comfortable admitting, but he couldn’t. Part of it was the Alpha-Beta bond that they still had and part of it was the fact that every time he look at Derek all he could see was his beautiful sister on her wedding day asking him to come with and help her. He really hated sentimentality sometimes.

Deucalion had been expecting them, he and his pack tore them to shreds before they’d even made it into the entrance hall proper. In all honesty if it hadn’t been for Argent and his brat Peter would have had to watch his pack die around him a second time. But Chris had followed them, had stayed quiet and hidden and when Deucalion made to rip Derek’s head from his neck the hunters fired enough flash-bang arrows to distract all of them. Peter had seen it for the opportunity it was and fled, Scott and Derek in tow. He couldn’t find Isaac or Boyd but once they’d finally stopped in the woods he scented them nearby.

The alphas followed them. So did Chris and his daughter. It was a long fight. The twins died first, two arrows to their conjoined neck forced them to remain together as Scott and Derek tore them to shreds. Kali nearly wrenched Isaac’s arm from his body only for Chris to put a pair of bullets into her skull.

The alphas were losing, Peter could hardly believe it, but the barrage of arrows and bullets from afar were keeping them distracted enough for Derek and his pack to slowly but surely kill them. Deucalion was the only threat left, his pack-mates dead or dying on the ground. He went for a soft target. Allison was the closest, he was intending to rip her throat out, Scott beat him there and forced him away… straight towards Christopher.

To be fair to the hunter he was an impressive fighter, even in close combat, but he was still just a human. Deucalion fell upon him like the hound of destruction he’d touted to be and shredded every inch of flesh his claws could reach. Derek stopped him from killing Argent, much to Peter’s momentary dismay, but in the ensuing tussle Deucalion once more grabbed hold of the bloodied hunter and held the man before him as a human shield.

The wolves froze. It was Allison who made the final decision. She put a wolfsbane infused arrow through her fathers gut with enough force to pierce the werewolf that held him trapped. Peter could only watch as Chris’ legs gave out with a gasp of pain.

Deucalion roared in pain and threw the hunter away from him, ripping the arrow from his own body in the process. They’d been fighting near a steep incline with a deep stream at the bottom. it was into this stream that Chris fell, sinking from sight in seconds.

Peter didn’t see what happened to Deucalion, he assumed that Derek, or Scott, killed him. He was far more focused on the dark water rushing past. The hunter’s daughter was screaming and running but it was Peter who leapt into the freezing water and dragged the injured man to the surface.

He was heavier than the wolf expected, the water dragging at his clothes trying to pull them both under. He managed to wrestle the limp figure over to the bank and Peter was shocked to feel the entirety of his pack working to drag them both out of the icy water. Bundling him in bloodied jackets and warm arms. Chris splayed out on the ground before him, dying.

They couldn’t take Argent to the hospital, it would raise too many questions. But a call placed to Melissa and a scramble to the SUV that the hunters had been using allowed them to arrive at the veterinarian just as Deaton was starting to lock up. He took one look at the arrow stuck in the hunters stomach and ushered them all inside, gesturing for Chris to be laid out on his side on the stainless steel table.

Melissa arrived soon after and they were thrown from the back room. They spent the remainder of the night curled around each other. As adrenaline from the fight began to wear off the chill of the water began to make Peter shiver. The smell of blood and antiseptic and pain were playing tricks on him. He drifted into nightmares of being trapped back in the burn ward, unable to move or speak, helpless. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of soft voices, then a door closing. Peter looked up, the door to the back room was open. He slipped from beneath the heavy arm of Boyd and laid his nieces head the other way onto Derek’s shoulder instead of his. He had to see for himself what had become of the hunter.

The smell of antiseptic was almost suffocating in the back room, but the still form of Chris lying on the operating table kept him from being distracted. He watched the hunters chest carefully and - THERE it move! He was alive.

The werewolf moved forward and studied the man carefully. He had to admit that, for a human, Chris had held up amazingly well against the alphas, after all he wasn’t dead. Yet.

He turned Chris’ head to the side, drawing out his neck in a single, long line that pulsed in time with his slowed heart rate. Peter allowed his claws to slide out and settled his thumb against the humans pulse. It would be so easy to simply press down, to dig in his claw, to finally be rid of the last of the threats this family had bred.

Deaton distracted him. Returning from somewhere else in the office, a small box in hand, to freeze at the sight of Peter. But he didn’t say anything.

And he didn’t stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

He enjoyed watching Chris. The man was interesting, in his own way, for a hunter. Peter knew that his slight... obsession was beginning to affect the way he worked with his nephew and his nephews ever increasing pack of bumbling idiots. He was drifting, he kept following the hunter’s scent around town. First to a coffee shop that sold some truly delicious blends. Then to a hardware store where he witnessed the man hauling large amounts of wood and salt and what appeared to be lighter fluid into the back of his SUV. He’d been wearing a v-neck t-shirt while doing it and the sight had been more than appreciable.

He had to admit that following the hunters trail, from day to day, place to place, was actually starting to be rather fun. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying it.

He never let on to the hunter that he was being followed. Never stepped out and said ‘hi’ no matter how much he knew he’d love the following look on the others face. he kept his distance. and on the occasions where he got to see a particularly gorgeous sight (Chris drenched in sweat in the middle of the local gyms boxing ring, wearing nothing but a pair of workout shorts) he returned to his small apartment and allowed himself to linger on the memory and please himself in the process.

It wasn’t until Derek confronted him about his apparently bizarre behavior that Peter finally decided to have some real fun with the hunter. He chose his place carefully, making sure that there would be plenty of witnesses and at least one cop, just in case Argent didn’t find his ideas as 'fun’ as he did.

He chose the gym. For several strategic reasons but mostly because he really wanted to see Chris shirtless again. He entered the place as if he were just another guy looking to lift tiny weights and sweat and make faces at his muscles in the mirror. None of the other patrons paid him any mind but the reaction from Chris was immediate. He froze in the middle of a sparing match with a beefy deputy from the sheriffs office. He ended up with a split lip for his momentary distraction and the scent of the hunters blood sent a frisson of pleasure through the werewolf.

He went about what he’d learned was a regular weight workout, hardly even testing himself, making sure that he was always within Argent’s line of sight. He knew he’d succeeded when the hunter began packing his gloves and pads away early and instead of neatly re-rolling the white gauze around his knuckles as he normally did instead opting to throw it all into a tangled mess back in his bag.

Peter left the weight machine he’d been putting half a heart into using and followed the hunter from the building. And out onto the sidewalk, down the street, and across to the cafe where Peter had first tracked him.

He’d been planning on maybe having some fun embarrassing the man at what had to be his regular coffee shop, but when he lost track of the man for a few moments and ended up pressed face first into the wall of the alley running alongside the cafe he had to admit that it wasn’t going to happen.

They had many other encounters like this, at the grocery store, the mechanics when all of Chris’ tires had mysteriously developed holes simultaneously, at the diner. Finally, it seemed that Chris had had enough.

And so had Peter.

The next time the Argent tried to force him away Peter grabbed his wrists and twisted them behind his own back, pressing their bodies flush together. The momentary struggle that the other man put up halted almost immediately when Peter ran his tongue up the long, stubble-rough line of his throat. Dragging one of the hunters thighs firmly between his own and rolling his hips against it there was absolutely no denying what he wanted.

It took surprisingly little convincing for Chris to agree.


End file.
